


kiss the ring and let it bow down

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ficlet Collection, Flint expects the worst but for once is pleasantly surprised at the outcome, Flint is a sad man and Silver just wants to understand him, Jewelry, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, past Flint/Hamiltons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: He notices the rings first.There are perhaps five or six of them arranged on Silver’s fingers, stacked below his knuckles like claws. Flint watches from the quarterdeck as his quartermaster talks to one of the riggers below on the main deck. Silver is gesturing upwards when the sun catches the metal in a quick burst of light, and Flint’s attention is drawn to them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing a couple short ficlets that'll all be connected! I'm putting the first (short) bit up tonight but will update more and soon, hopefully. might up the rating with later installments, as it goes from the realm of platonic to definitely not ;)
> 
> (title from P!ATD)
> 
> There is a brief reference to suicidal thoughts in this first part, let me know if I should tag it in a separate manner!

He notices the rings first.

 

There are perhaps five or six of them arranged on Silver’s fingers, stacked below his knuckles like claws. Flint watches from the quarterdeck as his quartermaster talks to one of the riggers below on the main deck. Silver is gesturing upwards when the sun catches the metal in a quick burst of light, and Flint’s attention is drawn to them instantly. 

 

Flint wonders, in a moment of idle thought, where he got them from. Perhaps a purchase from the recent stop in Tortuga, or a prize in a bet with a crew member? Given Silver’s fondness for card games when the ship is underway, and his uncanny ability to call bluffs, he would bet on the latter. As he watches, when Silver finishes his conversation with the other man, he idly spins one of the larger rings (made of a dark metal, the edges curved) on his thumb.

 

Flint remembers when he first arrived in Nassau, he had pierced his ear one night amid a haze of grief and anger. It had merely been a way to legitimize himself at first, an obvious step to bury any indication he had been a Naval officer while building the name of Captain Flint. But by now, if he took his earring out, he would likely soon miss the familiar weight of it dangling from his earlobe. Perhaps Silver, too, has realized the need to manipulate his physical form, to better match the myth his name is becoming.

 

Many of his crew and other pirates wear jewelry stolen from raids as ways to showcase their past victories, but few wear it for nostalgic reasons. Even those who were bonded in matelotage didn’t generally wear rings to show their bond, perhaps as a way to cast aside the association with more traditional unions. 

 

A long time ago, Thomas had given him a thin gold band, soon after the first time they had kissed. The man wore a matching one on his own ring finger, nestled above his wedding ring. James McGraw hadn’t been able to wear it on his ring finger, lest someone ask the wrong questions. Instead, he had kept it on a chain around his neck, hidden under his uniform where he could feel the cool press of it on his skin. 

 

Flint had cast it into the ocean after Peter Ashe’s letter arrived. The ring had been rendered meaningless, its twin by now long buried outside of Bedlam in an unmarked grave. As Flint watched it sink into the murky depths, he had briefly considered jumping in after it. Not to save it, but to let the ocean pull him down as well, until the dark water replaced the anguished loss in his lungs. But he had turned back, held onto Miranda tightly that night, only feeling dull satisfaction when he plunged his sword into Alfred Hamilton’s body many long months later. 

 

Flint doesn’t realize how deep he is in his thoughts until Silver is suddenly right there, eyebrow raised, in front of him. 

 

“Captain. DeGroot says we’ll need to fix the rigging as soon as possible,” Silver says, his hands at his sides. From here, Flint can now see one of the rings on Silver’s ring finger shines a brilliant blue color, the glass gem not unlike the color of the quartermaster’s eyes. The color should be jarring, but it fits alongside a thinner band of silver on his next finger, the warped texture of the smaller metal ring a balance to the smooth glass of the other one. 

 

Silver’s other eyebrow raises when Flint doesn’t answer. He had been silent for too long, apparently. “Set a course for the cove coming up on the starboard side,” Flint tells him to try to cover his lapse in response, and then turns to go back in his cabin. He can feel Silver’s gaze on his back, likely concern for Flint’s especially reserved behavior, but he is not willing to give the man an opportunity to peer into his mind. 

 

Later, in his cabin, Flint studies the rings on his own fingers. They’re all crusted with salt water by now, far more tarnished than the ones Silver has on his hands, but they’re familiar accessories now. He can’t stop thinking about the rings on Silver’s hands, even as he uncorks another bottle of rum in an attempt to drink himself to sleep. 

 

He dreams that night of Silver’s hands, curled around a sword, his crutch, digging into soft flesh. When he wakes up, he elects to pass of his dreams as a strange occurrence, never to be thought of again. 

 

But Flint should have known better. Should have known that like how the sea leaves its mark on worn metal, John Silver has already left a mark on him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Several months pass. Ever since Flint had told him about the Hamiltons, revealing a final piece to the puzzle of his past, their relationship has strengthened. They had shared possession of some complex beast that has them twisted and hopelessly caught in one another. 

 

They survive together, from on a rowboat to a cage to leading a battle, fighting and manipulating others in turn. Flint even occasionally wakes up in the morning from the warm sunlight spilling over his eyes, instead of jolting awake from another nightmare as he has become accustomed to. 

 

When Silver was healing from his recently amputated leg, Flint, surprising them both one afternoon, had volunteered to help him redress the leg wound. Silver was still clumsy and apt to tear out the stitches, and must have recognized this fact to accept Flint’s assistance, even though he was loathe to accept any help.

 

As Flint wrapped the bandages around the curve of his leg, making sure to keep his touch clinical, every time his thumb grazed the upper part of his calf it had made Silver shiver. Not in pain, as Flint first assumed, but rather in bliss, just at the sensation of human touch. At one point, Silver’s eyes had even began to close, not that Flint would admit that he noticed. 

 

Apparently it had been some effect of being trapped in the captain’s quarters for so long, for Silver to be taken with such comfort over Flint’s touch, to let his guard down in such a surprisingly intimate moment. For his part, Flint couldn’t help but to feel a tiny thrill each time his fingers brushed against the other man’s pale flesh. Silver’s grown a beard, and for a moment, Flint pictures what it would feel like to run his fingers through the still-stubbly dark hair at his jawline, tug at it lightly. 

 

He had never been a naturally tactile person with others, not due to any dislike of actually touching people, but rather quite the opposite. It was a long-held repression, the fact that Flint liked to touch and be touched, and one that he was not keen on letting anyone know. Even the Hamiltons had been surprised when it turned out that he had enjoyed their touch beyond the bedroom- and afterwards, they made sure to indulge him, Miranda taking to running her fingers through his hair while she read, and Thomas letting him curl their feet together at night. 

 

It wasn’t as though he spent regular company with anyone who would ever casually touch the fearsome Captain Flint, after all, so he didn’t usually run into any problems keeping himself distant. But like with many things, John Silver did not fit into the normal situation, and their interactions were something apart from everyone else that Flint knew. 

 

In recent weeks, a strange sort of tension had developed between Flint and Silver. Sometimes, he will catch Silver’s eyes just as they slide off of him, evasive in a way that is inherently suspicious for a supposedly platonic glance. Flint will find himself looking just slightly too long at the other man’s frame, while Silver’s eyes follow him around the room even if they don’t say a word to each other. Flint, despite his best efforts to keep Silver and his meddling far from mind, notices the soft pink color of his mouth. 

 

Recently, it’s drifted into the realm of physical, however platonic. Silver had gotten into the habit of putting his hand on Flint’s lower arm to get his attention, his fingers grazing freckled skin just a moment too long, even when a quiet word will suffice. Flint in turn will bump their shoulders together to get his attention, or even when he’s passing him. The first time they had touched unnecessarily in the presence of Billy, Flint could tell that the first mate seemed unnerved at their casual touch, but then suddenly thoughtful. He never brought it up, however, which was probably a smart decision. 

 

If Flint was honest with himself, he had been attracted to the other man for a long time now. Of course he could tell that the other man was attractive, but now even Silver’s cocky attitude was equal parts infuriating and compelling, awakening a carnal desire that Flint had believed died with the Hamiltons. When he walked, Silver had a particular way of moving that spoke of an assuredness that was mesmerizing in itself, even as he limped on a peg leg. When they would argue, Silver’s eyes blazed when Flint was being particularly stubborn, and the way that he would prod at Flint’s argument, dancing around him with words, it was intoxicating. 

 

But Silver had made no obvious intentions towards him, and Flint respected him completely with this, so that he didn’t want to drag another complication into their relationship, no matter what brewed between them. 

 

That is, until he himself is dragged into the more complicated waters. 

 

It’s an overcast morning when he walks out onto the deck. They are anchored off the coast of Maroon Island, awaiting a meeting with Teach, and the men are already restless only a few hours trapped on board. Most of the men are still asleep, and Flint relishes in the quiet creaking sounds audible, only accompanied by the soft winds above. 

 

Flint sees Silver standing at the rail, looking out at the water, and he approaches him. Silver turns around at his footsteps when he gets near, and Flint is about to tell him how to direct the men, when the words die in his throat.

 

Silver is wearing several heavy necklaces made of alternating strands of thick cord and metal beads. It would be gaudy, but the open front of his shirt, not hidden by his worn jacket, reveals long stretches of tanned skin, the necklaces a sharp contrast to the color of his flesh. The necklaces are layered in a way that draws one’s attention down to where the man’s waist tapers off, one especially long strand nearly making it down to his naval. Flint nearly misses a step as his eyes are inexplicably drawn to this, and he snaps his eyes up too late, to where Silver is now frowning. 

 

“Something the matter, captain?” he asks, somewhat warily. 

 

“You’ve gained new adornments,” Flint says, resolutely keeping his face straight. 

 

Silver’s face is blank at first, but then there’s a growing smirk on his face, and heat blooms in Flint’s chest despite himself. “These? They are gifts from our friends on the island.” He picks one of them up from his chest, and Flint watches it fall back with a soft clinking sound. “And here I thought you were angry at me just now, inexplicably of course.”

 

“When have I ever been angry at you, I wonder,” Flint says dryly, and Silver chuckles. 

 

“You did come over here for some purpose, though,” the quartermaster says, and Flint isn’t even surprised when the first thought that comes to mind is that he wants to touch the necklaces, then Silver’s chest, to see which is smoother. He pictures running his teeth down the planes of his abdomen, taking the heavier beads into his mouth so that they fall back to Silver’s chest warm and damp, making him shiver as Flint’s hands run up and down his sides, craving the smooth slide of flesh-

 

Flint turns to lean his elbows on the rail, trying to banishing this train of thought lest Silver manage to read anything on his face. “They’ll get caught in your sword during a fight,” is what he comes up with to break the silence. “The necklaces. And then Long John Silver will be felled in doubt an extremely embarrassing manner.” 

 

Silver is uncharacteristically silent despite Flint’s attempt at levity, and when Flint turns to look at him, there’s a complicated expression on his face. “Sometimes, I wonder if you really don’t understand the larger picture, or if you do, and you choose to ignore it in light of the obstacles to it,” he says instead. 

 

He frowns, turning so that he keeps only a hand on the railing. “What the fuck do you mean?”   


 

Something in Silver’s face shifts into decisiveness at that, not unlike when he’s about to win an argument with Flint, and he takes half a step forward. Flint swallows, and even though the movement is small, he’s aware of every shift in his body as Silver comes closer.“Did you really come over to tell me about the necklaces?” Silver says flatly, even though it’s a question.

 

“What do you think?” Flint answers, just as easily. 

 

“I think,” Silver tells him, and his hand comes up right next to Flint’s on the side of the ship, so that Flint can feel the heat of his fingers, “You might have some misconceptions about me, that I think I should make _extremely_ clear.” 

 

“Do I, now,” Flint says, keeping his tone steady even as Silver’s finger presses up against the inside of his wrist. He’s not an idiot, though, and he can see what is about to happen. “And are you going to tell me that I’m wrong, now?” 

 

Silver’s finger starts to move up and down ever so slightly, and Flint freezes. “Captain,” Silver says instead, and his mouth drops open ever so slightly. “We both know I agree with you on the important things.”

 

Flint considers this, sees how this situation will unfold- that one of them will make the first move, and however it goes, they will find a resolution to the tension behind him. He considers taking another step forward, until they’re pressed together right there on the deck, but then a voice interrupts them.

 

“Captain,” one of the men says, looking hesitant to interrupt, as Silver takes a step back from Flint. “They’re signaling from shore, they’ve spotted Captain Teach on the other side of the island already.” 

 

Flint nods, not daring to look at Silver. “Ready the launches to shore. I will go to meet Teach. Mr. Silver will stay on board to oversee further preparations for the ship.” The man nods, leaving, and then he turns to Silver.

 

The quartermaster meets his eye easily, and at that, Flint realizes then that this moment between them was not one to be broken by just one conversation or missed opportunity, that the storm that they have created will not go away, not now. He makes a decision.

 

“I’ll be on shore, in one of the huts,” Flint says, watching as slow surprise comes to Silver’s face at the implied invitation. “I’ll leave a bottle outside of the door.” 

 

Silver doesn’t touch him, which Flint supposes he should be grateful for, as he doesn’t know what he would do in response, but he nods in response. “Understood. I’ll prepare the ship to be anchored overnight,” Silver says, then leaves him.

 

Flint watches him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I'll have another update tomorrow- this part was a lot longer than the first bit, I know, but I was suddenly struck with another way to have this go lol. hope you enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

•••

 

The meeting with Teach goes quicker than expected. Teach is as arrogant as always, but Flint has now learned how to grit his teeth to deal with the man, telling himself that their alliance is a necessary evil. They part rather coolly, but there are no blows exchanged, so Flint counts it as a victory.

 

He gets to the hut after midday, when the sun is well overhead and warm on the back of his neck. Madi had thoughtfully provided the space for him before he even asked. “You seem like a man who appreciates his privacy, and I wish to respect that,” she had said, to which Flint had been uncharacteristically unsure how to answer to. 

 

The hut itself is relatively small, but is a comfortable temperature from where it’s tucked under the forest shade. It’s far away from the other buildings that the men stay in, giving Flint quiet solitude when he needs it. Besides his footprints which lead into the hut out front, there’s the charcoaled remains of a fire pit, not touched since last he was here. The inside is furnished with a bed pushed to one end, a small writing table, and a chair where Flint now hangs his jacket. He brought a bottle of wine with him as well, and after a moment, he sets it outside the doorway into the room. 

 

With nothing better to do while he waits, he picks up the bowl on the table. There’s a stream nearby the hut, but he takes his time walking along it, following the curves of the riverbed, the soft moss lightly crunching beneath his boots. He sets the bowl down on the ground, using his hands to scoop cool water and splashes it on his face. Flint feels the rivulets run down his neck, under his shirt, the grime and salt of several weeks living on a ship carried with it. 

 

After he returns to the hut, there’s still time to spare, and his thoughts begin to creep back. Flint toes off his boots, sits on the bed. He wonders if Silver will decide that there is too much at risk between them, if he decides to keep their complicated relationship pressed behind this particular line that they have yet to cross. It’s one thing to seek mutual comfort in touch, to flirt with the possibility, but another to carry it out. 

 

Now the sun is beginning to set, the temperature dipping as the sun touches the horizon. Flint lights a fire, sits on the ground to watch the yellow flames crackle. But before the sun completely falls underneath the horizon, he can hear footsteps, and he forces himself not to stand. 

 

Silver emerges from the tree line, the fire casting his face into partial shadow. Flint looks at him, from where he’s standing perhaps ten feet away. His peg leg glints in the firelight, as if he’d cleaned it recently.

 

“I didn’t think you were this far from the men,” Silver says after a moment. “I was searching for a damn bottle for quite some time. The men thought I was drunk already.”

 

Flint turns his head slightly, to where, true to his word, a wine bottle rests against the doorframe. “It’s quiet here, away from them.” 

 

“I can understand the allure,” the quartermaster replies, and he walks close to Flint to pick up the bottle, uncorking it to take a long drink. The man is still wearing most of the necklaces from earlier, and when he moves, they clink lightly against each other, nearly startling in the surrounding quiet. 

 

At this close range, however, Flint can see another reason why he was so late. “You pierced your ear?” 

 

Silver lets the bottle fall from his lips. “I did.” There’s a stud in his ear closest to Flint, and even in the dim light, he can see that the flesh around it looks pink, slightly swollen. It’s not unlike the one that Flint has in its own ear. He swallows, knowing that Silver’s eyes are tracking every movement.

 

“I see,” Flint says, when Silver still stares at him. 

 

“Do you have a problem with it?” Silver asks, almost aggressively. 

 

“My ear is pierced, I don’t see how it would offend my sensibilities.” The question pricks at Flint oddly, or perhaps it’s Silver’s tone, and he reaches to take the bottle from Silver. The wine is a touch spicy on his tongue, the glass smooth on his lip, and he takes a long sip. 

 

“You were staring at it, again,” Silver says. “Just like you were looking at the necklaces, the rings back on the ship. I’m beginning to think you have something against my adornments.” 

 

His words are seemingly innocent, but Flint breaks eye contact. “It’s nothing.” 

 

“I don’t think so,” Silver responds with a hint of bite, but sits down on the ground beside him anyways, taking the bottle back. “You wear just as many rings.”

 

He glances over his hands on reflex. “So?”  


 

“Do they have meaning?” Silver asks, as if that isn’t a loaded question, leading into a dozen more. Flint feels the warmth spreading on his skin from both the fire and the wine in his stomach, even as that familiar tension spins around them, shifting as they maneuver around whatever form it takes. 

 

He spreads his fingers more, watches the light catch off the surfaces. “This one was from Tortuga,” Flint replies, bending his pinky slightly so the metal weight slides down, until it’s stopped by the knuckle.Each word feels like a small piece of himself he’s handing to Silver. “A gift from Gates, when I first became captain.” 

 

Silver lets him continue, still holding the bottle of wine without taking another sip. Flint looks at the next two rings, that he wears on his right hand. “Both of these were taken from a French prize off the coast of St. Augustine.” He breathes in, out. “I didn’t know then, but it was close to the day that Thomas died.” 

 

Silver stills at the mention of Thomas, and Flint can’t stand to look at him now, so he continues. 

 

“This one,” he says quietly, spinning a pale colored band that has a heavy front to it, “Is from a prize, long ago. Had another one like it, but I lost it during the storm.” 

 

“And the last one?” Silver’s voice is equally quiet, careful. 

 

“This one, Miranda gave to me,” he says, even quieter, the familiar clench of grief yawning in his chest. “When we first came to Nassau.” 

 

The metal on that particular ring is perhaps the most ornate, carved with a leaf design, now faded and worn. It’s the one that he often spins around when facing a difficult decision. 

 

“I tried to read one of your books this afternoon,” Silver says after a while. “While you met with Teach.”

 

He glances up at that, seeing Silver’s face defined by the light in front of them. “Which one?” 

 

The quartermaster exhales.“Does it fucking matter?” 

 

Flint lets his eyes flicker to Silver’s hands, where they’re clutched tightly against the bottle of wine. “I suppose not.” He swallows, again, feeling off center, before his eyes once again follow the metal links of Silver’s necklace, curved slightly now that he’s sitting down. 

 

“It’s nothing to do with the necklaces, the rings, the fucking earring,” Silver realizes, slowly, as Flint does nothing in response. “You were looking at me.” 

 

_Of course I was looking at you_. But when he doesn’t answer, Silver still looks determined, and he leans closer. “Perhaps,” he says quietly, breathes out the words onto Flint’s mouth, and Flint flinches.

 

It’s the wrong movement. That look in Silver’s eyes is extinguished, and he gets up quickly for a man on a fake leg. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then slams his jaw shut, turning to leave him. 

 

But then Flint’s rising too, and the a single word comes out. “Wait,” he says, and he grabs Silver’s arm. The touch is a shock to the two of them, and Silver pulls his arm free of Flint’s grasp, but doesn’t continue walking away. 

 

Flint takes another step, and Silver holds his ground. His brow is furrowed, those blue eyes searching for some answer, as Flint reaches forward, grasping one of the necklaces between his fingers. Silver continues to look at him, not saying a word, as Flint raises the necklace- this one, made of amber beads on a leather cord, cool under his fingertips- and pulls it up over Silver’s head, the ends of his hair barely snagging on the beads. 

 

He lets it falls from his fingers once it’s off Silver’s neck, and it hits the ground with a muffled clack. Silver is still staring at him, wordless, as Flint takes another necklace in hand, lifts it over his head, onto the ground. He continues this, again and again, until Silver’s neck is bare save for the one necklace that’s close to his throat.

 

This necklace is made of dark cord, with a silver square pressed against the base of his neck. It can’t be lifted over Silver’s head, and Flint’s fingers falter as he begins to slide them back around to the back of Silver’s neck, where he can untie it. He can feel Silver’s heartbeat, quick now, pulse through the flesh there. 

 

But Silver’s hands come up to stop his progress, his eyes sharp with intent on Flint’s face. He guides Flint’s hands to the hem of his shirt instead, then lifting his arms so that Flint tugs his shirt up and over his head. 

 

Then he’s standing there, half naked, and Flint lets his fingers splay over warm flesh. He can just barely feel Silver’s heartbeat under his fingertips now, and presses in, as Silver sucks in a breath. 

 

“Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie,” Silver says, somewhat breathlessly, as Flint’s hands continue to run over his torso, greedy as they feel every bump and curve of his front and sides. “You have utter filth in some of those books, you know.”

 

It’s only appropriate to him that in response, Flint sinks down to his knees besides the necklaces. From the low angle, he watches Silver’s mouth part, eyes trained on Flint like he’s going to disappear. He bites down on Silver’s hip briefly, and Silver hisses, his knees buckling slightly. 

 

“He had a way with words, like someone else I know,” Flint tells him, pressing a kiss now to the lower curve of his abdomen, his hands coming up to unfasten Silver’s trousers. 

 

“God,” Silver breathes out, his hand coming up to grasp at the back of Flint’s head. “Wait, come up here-” and he pulls at Flint’s shirt, until the captain rises to face him once again, and then they’re finally kissing. 

 

Silver’s mouth presses against his with an urgency, as if he’s trying to consume Flint whole, and his hands clutch at Flint’s shoulders. Flint deepens the kiss, shifting until he can easily tilt his head down at a better angle, his hands still on Silver’s sides. He runs his tongue over Silver’s lower lip, tracing the seam of his mouth as Silver moans into the kiss in response. 

 

He breaks away for a moment, a single strand of saliva connecting their lips. “Do you want this?” Flint asks, because it has to be clear, he has to know. 

 

“Yeah, you’re a fucking idiot,” Silver says, his voice already rough, his eyes half-lidded, and he drags Flint in for another kiss before the captain can respond. 

 

Flint lets himself be led into the hut, Silver pressing kiss after kiss onto his mouth. He sits back onto the bed, and Flint presses him down onto it, their legs hanging off the end. Silver’s hands creep over his lower back to untuck the captain’s own shirt, hands moving up and down over his own skin. 

 

He laves open-mouthed kisses under Silver’s jawline, where the beard fades into stubble, and bites down when he can feel Silver’s heartbeat underneath his tongue. Silver swears at that, his hands now clutching at the curve of Flint’s ass, where it meets his thighs. Flint grinds his hips down and up, and Silver’s fingers dig as he throws his head back with a groan. 

 

“Fuck,” Silver says again, but now it sounds different, the tone changed, and Flint looks up to read his expression. “I told the men I’d be back before-” his voice breaks off as Flint kisses the base of his neck, just below the silver square of the necklace. “Before long.”

 

“Fuck the men,” Flint responds, but stops rolling his hips when it looks like Silver is serious. “Why the fuck would you tell them that?” 

 

Silver tilts his head to meet Flint’s eye, looking far from pleased. “Forgive me if I didn’t know exactly what to expect coming here tonight. You’re rather an enigma, staring at me one moment before running away.” 

 

“I didn’t run away,” he grumbles, as Silver’s hand lifts up to rest on his thigh. “Did you tell them where you were heading?” 

 

“I did,” Silver says, as his hand begins to creep higher on his leg. “Although with the looks you’ve been giving me these last few months, I would wager they could guess, regardless of what I told them.” His thumb begins to circle, slowly, and Flint leans into the touch. “I want you.”

 

But then Flint swats his hand off his leg after a moment, his resolve strengthening as he sits up. “Go back to the ship,” he says, even when Silver makes a sound of complaint from beside him. “It’s your own fucking fault that you didn’t think to, I don’t know, _lie.”_  


“I’d much rather stay,” Silver offers, sitting up, and after a moment, he presses his lips to the curve of Flint’s neck. “Does it matter what they think?” 

 

“Pick up your fucking necklaces and go back to the ship,” Flint tells him, even as his body betrays him by leaning into his touch, his mouth, and he has to grip the blanket below his palms to ground himself. 

 

Silver breaks away with a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He swings his legs to the ground, getting up somewhat unsteadily as Flint watches. “Is that it, then?” he asks, his back now turned. “We just go back to pretending that whatever this is- that it’s something to be avoided?” 

 

Flint looks at the slope of his bare back, the way his hand twitches just slightly at his side. “Is that what you want?” The words seem final, despite the fact that there’s now a current of frustration pulsing between them. 

 

“You know what I want,” the quartermaster counters, leaving the question unspoken, still not looking at him. 

 

Flint considers telling him that it was a mistake, a combination of heady wine and a lack of judgement and the complicated situation, but he’s lived enough lies. “I do,” he admits,and Silver turns in surprise at that, his eyes still so dark. 

 

“God help me, I do,” Flint says again, and Silver is in front of him before he can blink, kissing him gently, slower than before. 

 

“Good,” he says after a moment, in between kisses. “That’s- that’s good,” and then Silver’s pulling away, even as he makes a pained sound, and Flint’s hands close on the blanket once more. 

 

He walks out, then, leaving Flint on the bed to contemplate the weight of this particular decision. But Silver comes back in a moment later, his shirt and necklaces already back on. He’s holding one of them in his hand, Flint sees, the one with the amber beads. 

  
“Here,” Silver says, thrusting it towards Flint as if he’s trying to move before he thinks better of it. Flint catches the smooth beads, stares up at him. “So you don’t think it was some sort of hallucination,” Silver says then, smirking and finally turning to go, closing the door once more behind him. 

 

Flint lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Silver’s finally left. “Asshole,” he mutters, but it sounds disgustingly fond even to his own ears. 

 

He does tuck the necklace into his pocket. He’s not going to fucking wear it, but Silver’s going to ask for it back most likely. Flint leans back on the bed, closes his eyes. He can still feel Silver’s mouth on his own, the taste of the wine.

 

 

•••

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (only one or two more chapter after this! this is so Dramatic and Gay like most everything I do lmao)
> 
> quote from the Shakespeare poem Venus and Adonis


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand the conclusion! I decided to end this on a lighter note, because with all the terribly sad things about to happen in the future canon (SUNDAY!!!). I hope you enjoy it!

 

Silver’s necklace is a heavy weight in his pocket. The smooth beads slide through his fingers as he untangles them, but it’s the significance of that particular gift that makes him conscious of their mass. 

 

Silver returns to the ship, but Flint remains in the small hut on the shore. He’s not unaware of the significance of his actions, of Silver’s actions, and he needs the chance to regroup. A small part of him, strengthened by the fact that he hasn’t slept enough and for too long, suggests that perhaps Silver, when given the chance to reconsider, will also choose to forget about this. Even though his necklace is in Flint’s pocket, one he gave with the promise of _more_ , the taste of his mouth forever burned into Flint’s memory, he could very well decide that it was a mistake.

 

Then they would continue the war they started, although instead of hurtling towards each other as an inevitable conclusion, they would be two parallel lines, forever destined to soar beyond each other without a look back. Flint would accept that, one day perhaps even think about it without feeling any dull ache. He imagines himself fixed in this dull future, afterwards in which he probably drinks himself to death in some forsaken land, never quite forgetting how Silver’s hands tremble just the slightest when he’s seeking new flesh to touch.

 

Christ. He’s had enough to drink, Flint thinks to himself, and unsteadily raises the bottle to drain it anyways. He falls asleep curled on the bed in the corner, the edge of his finger snagged on a strand of amber beads.

 

 

•••

 

 

Because the world seems fit to hate him, he wakes up the next morning with a dull headache pounding deep behind his eyes, a cruel remnant of the wine. Flint manages to gulp down some of the water that he collected yesterday, his stomach protesting and lurching when he stands. 

 

Still, he’s a captain with a ship to run, so he forces himself up and out of the hut. The fresh air helps him, and he’s able to remain stony-faced and able to think clearly when he gets to the cool sand of the beach. 

 

The sun is already in the sky, though it’s still morning. He should count himself lucky not to have missed the launch. Flint is only partially convinced that his men would stay until he arrived, unless Silver and DeGroot have planned an elaborate mutiny this morning. 

 

There’s a launch waiting for him on the shore, luckily. It’s filled with other crew members that seem to be nursing hangovers as well, some of them even clutching the side of the boat with white knuckles. Flint stares out at the ocean on the horizon as the boat approaches the Walrus, a familiar shade of blue portrayed on the horizon line where the dark gray-blue water meets the pale shades of the morning clouds. The breeze helps him, and he’s feeling significantly better by the time he climbs over the railing. 

 

“Captain,” Silver says with wicked amusement in his tone, because of course he’d be right there. “I have to say, you’re looking sprightly this morning.”

 

Flint shoots him a look that hopefully conveys his displeasure. “Mr. Silver.” The other man is no longer wearing his necklaces, a fact that irritates Flint for some reason, beyond what anything really should. “Is the ship ready to set sail?” 

 

“Almost,” Silver replies then, nearly cheekily. “I just need to confer with you on one of the routes. If you wouldn’t mind terribly.” 

 

He starts walking to Flint’s quarters, and Flint tries not to visibly exhale out through his nose. The quartermaster walks too easily towards the captain’s quarters, giving orders as they naturally roll off his tongue to the men as he walks. Flint follows him, and he begins to speak as soon as they’re through the door. 

 

“I understand if the events of last night-” Flint begins, ready to carefully parse his words and any response so that he can be clear- but then Silver is crowding against him against the closed door, his mouth on Flint’s jaw as he kisses there. 

 

“I thought that I was clear on what I want. Didn’t we have this conversation?” Silver tells him, before dragging him into a filthy kiss, full of tongue and grasping hands. 

 

And, well, that was another possibility that Flint had barely dared to consider. That Silver’s words were truthful, and that even the separation that the last several hours had given them had no effect on his decision. He kisses back a little too late after processing this. His teeth knock into Silver’s lip, and the man laughs.

 

The sound startles Flint for a moment. He hasn’t heard that kind of light-hearted laugh in too long, and he stops, looking at Silver even though he’s really too close to focus on. 

 

“I’m going to assume that your reservations are because you’ve grown too old to handle a flask of wine, not something else,” Silver quips, but there’s a hint of a look in his eye that pushes Flint to answer the unspoken question. His hands, from where they were clenched into the bottom of Flint’s jacket, loosen slightly, and Flint resists trying to put them right back on him. 

 

“Where are your necklaces?” he asks then, because that’s the easy question, as more thoughts flow through his mind. 

 

Silver shrugs. “What does it matter?”

 

He gives a hard look, despite the fact they’re still pressed together. “Don’t tell me you took them off for no reason.” 

 

“Well,” Silver says, “I was rather hoping that I would no longer need them, now that we had _this conversation_.”  


 

Flint recalls their words, and frowns when he doesn’t come up with an immediate answer. Silver sighs. “Surely you understand that the necklaces were in some part an attempt to push you into action, lest I do all the work.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Like you don’t know how you were looking at me,” Silver scoffs, before looking at his face closely. “Oh. Well, there you have it. I’m a bit of a sap, as it turns out, when it comes to you. Besides, I figured there was only so much pining and intent staring until you decided to act on those urges. Which you did, delightfully before that interruption, last night.” He pauses. “You do still want act on those, ah, urges, correct?”  


 

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says, thinking of Silver’s face shrouded in candlelight for one moment, before glaring at the man in front of him right now. “How much money did you spend on those things?” 

 

Silver lets out another one of those bright laughs, any worry abated, and takes a step back. Flint wonders how they’re ever going to get anything done, now that he misses the feel of the man’s body against his. 

 

“I did have a question about the course. DeGroot mentioned a particularly vicious easterly wind, after all, that might interfere with our planned maneuver to steer clear of the island chain,” Silver continues without breaking eye contact, his mouth a straight line.

 

Flint feels his headache start to come back. “Are you serious?”  


 

“Not in the slightest,” Silver confesses, and his mouth quirks before he’s pulling Flint in for yet another kiss, more gentle and slow this time. “I believe,” he gets out, as Flint wraps his hands around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as he tries to silence Silver with his mouth now, “That you owe me for some frustration last night.” 

 

“I owe you nothing, you insolent shit,” Flint mutters against his mouth, but his words don’t really hold any weight as he’s working his hands up and underneath Silver’s shirt, running his hands over the twitching muscles of his abdomen. He steps them back, until the first thing that Silver collides into is the desk, and he sits back on it willingly. 

 

“I had to jerk off twice, thinking about the way you looked so _gorgeous_ on your knees,” Silver says, before gasping when Flint’s mouth finds a sensitive place at the base of his neck, then trailing to tug at his earlobe lightly. “I think you owe me that, at the very least. Then I think we should put in the effort to see how sturdy this desk is. And then the bed. Perhaps the chair, too, I think I could ride you on that if I’m careful-”

 

“You talk too fucking much,” Flint informs him, before kissing him once more and dropping to his knees. 

 

When Silver puts a shaky hand on his head, he can feel the cool press of the metal rings against his scalp. It reminds him of that first time on the foredeck, seeing John Silver, the light glinting off the jewelry. Then, he could only begin to see what was directly front of them, how they gravitated towards each other as two unstoppable forces destined in his end at the very least. Silver laughs when Flint’s tongue traces down his hip, again, before his head is dropping back and moaning when Flint puts his mouth to better use in an effort to stop Silver from being able to form actual words. 

 

But perhaps, there were worse ways to end, he thinks to himself, as Silver keens above him, promising him anything he wanted _as long as he didn’t stop_. After all, he could have lived a life without knowing this, how he tasted in his mouth, how he loved liked it consumed him, how he spoke of such grand gestures and tales like second nature. 

 

Such knowledge that Flint is learning now, that he would later commit to memory. He would gladly endure that mark if it meant remembering how they got there, how the feeling of this was like coming home after a long voyage, and remembering how it felt to walk through the door once more.

 

 

•••

 

**Author's Note:**

> my black sails sideblog is @jamesbarlow on tumblr!


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